No Secret So Close
by Shieldmaiden3
Summary: Chapter three up- Éomer isn't a happy bunny. Still, thank the Valar for horses. Please read and review!
1. Travelling

So I enter the realm of sequels. Yes, with the impending Return of the King film about to make it's debut, I am becoming very worried about how the story will be presented. I am in no doubt that it will be the ultimate in cinematic history, but as for lending it the essence of Middle-earth, I have my doubts. So, I am consoling myself with a good bout of story writing for my, and hopefully your, enjoyment.  
  
Disclaimer: Everything here that you recognise from Tolkien's works, including places, names and characters, are not mine, as I wouldn't have a clue what to do with them. Torfi, however, is mine, and is making a comeback from my first ever story, 'Worth More Than Riches'. I do reccomend you read that first though it is not, of course, essential.  
  
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"To be loved by a horse, or by any animal, should fill us with awe- for we have not deserved it."  
  
~Marion. C. Garretty~  
  
*************  
  
Even in the later days of autumn, closing in on winter, the Kingdom of Rohan was beautiful. The grey, overcast sky set a stark contrast against the swaying, rippling sea of grass that stretched across the land as far as the eye could see, exquisitely tinted with all imaginable hues of green, ranging from the sun streaked paleness of the taller stalks to the deep jade of the shorter tufts peeping out from beneath their overshadowing companions. The White Mountains usually set a magnificent, sharp-cut horizon, but today their peaks were cloaked in cloud so that they appeared to simply merge into the sky.  
  
The only beings visible on the landscape were making their steady way towards a city vaguely discernable in the distance. One of the figures was very obviously a dwarf, fit and in the prime of life. He was seeingly a traveller, his garb was simple and light, he carried only an axe at his belt, well-crafted and sharp, and on his back was a leather travelling pack.  
  
The other figure was a small, shaggy pony, who followed the Dwarf nose-to- shoulder. It's thick hair was brown, and it's fly-away mane an ebony black. Bright eyes peeped out from beneath a thatch of forelock, it's face split by a crooked white blaze.  
  
They walked on for a while, with the steady, rythmical stride of those who have been travelling long and far, and whose legs were moving with a mind of their own, whilst their thoughts drifted to food and rest. Eventually, the Dwarf stopped and dropped his pack.  
  
"Well, Torfi, my lad," he said, turning to the pony. "We've gone a good step today, a good step too far, my legs are telling me." The pony tossed his head and nudged the Dwarf's chest. "You're tired!" he exclaimed. "Well, my lad, at least you have four legs, all of which are a good deal longer than mine. And I didn't ride you today- too nice for my own good. The Elf is a bad influence." With that, he sat down on the ground and opened his pack. Torfi dropped his head and nosed towards him, and as soon as he caught his chance, his ferreting nose disappeared inside his companion's pack. Ignoring his master's exclamation, the pony refused to withdraw his nose until he had found his bounty. He retreated at last, a rosy red apple in his teeth.  
  
Gimli- for that was the Dwarf's name- rolled his eyes at his pony. "If it weren't for the fact that I was so tired and that apple belonged to you anyway, I would be angry." His voice was threatening, but his eyes sparkled. Torfi's nostrils fluttered his disbelief at the Dwarf's words.  
  
"Talking to horses..." Gimli muttered to himself as he struck a fire with flint and tinder. "Soon I shall be singing to the trees and finding my words roaming off into a foreign language." His supplies were getting low, he noted. He had perhaps enough for another day, so he would just have to hope that he would reach Edoras, the capital city of Rohan, by tomorrow evening. When he had finished his meager supper, he lay down and rested his head on his pack, gazing upwards at the stars. He smiled to himself, remembering his friend Legolas's attempts to teach him the Elvish constellations. Gimli remembered them all perfectly, but by feigning a complete inability to grasp Legolas's teachings, Gimli had succeeded in irritating the Elf.  
  
"If every Master were to have a student as infuriating as you, then it is a wonder that anyone anywhere is being taught at all!" he had cried eventually, throwing up his hands, even more put out by Gimli's snickering.  
  
After a while, Gimli drifted into a doze, that remarkable phase when one hovers between sleep and wakefulness. The cool autumn air had a distinct chill, and he was glad of his blanket. Torfi stood close to him, and the creak of his joints as he shifted slightly and the swish of his tail were loud noises in the still night, accompanied only by the rustle of the grass as the breeze stirred through it.  
  
When morning came, sharp-aired and grey, Gimli woke refreshed. Looking about, he saw that Torfi had wandered a little way and was grazing at his leisure. There was a thick blanket of mist low on the ground that morning, and there was a definite chill in the air. The grass and Torfi's coat were netted with dew, and when Gimli drew close to his pony to bridle him, he shook his mane hard, showering his master with water. If a pony could have snickered, this one certainly would have been doing so.  
  
"Off with you!" Gimli exclaimed, stepping away. "Now what was that for, eh? Start showing some respect, Torfi, my lad, else all the rest of these here apples will be mine and mine alone!" At that, Torfi dropped his shaggy head and peered balefully at Gimli from beneath his scruffy forelock. Gimli sighed, and quickly pulled the supple, worn leather bridle over his pony's head, before trussing his pack and slinging it over his broad shoulders.  
  
"We should do a good step today," he told Torfi, vaulting onto his back. "Which means, unfortunately, that I shall have to ride you, as it will be far quicker." Torfi shook his mane and set off at a brisk walk, his head high and ears pricked, his nostrils fluttering as he took in the crisp morning air. The clouds were too low for Gimli's liking; they gave the omnious feeling of rain, and soon he urged Torfi to a trot. Edoras was still too far away and, though the Dwarf would rather cut off his beard than admit it, he was beginning to long for company, particularly that of a certain Elf. He shook his head quickly, driving those thoughts away. He sat deep into his pony's back and pushed him onto into a canter. The autumnal feeling in the air was making the old pony fresh, and he gave a joyous half- buck before falling into pace. A few months ago, this would have terrified Gimli, but now he was used to the pony's ways and just kicked him onwards.  
  
*************  
  
Ah, the joy of short chapters! Can you believe it took me three months to write this much? But there we are- business comes first! For those who asked after 'Riches', my youngster is coming on brilliantly, and much better than I expected. Soon, when the nice weather comes back, I should be able to work on my writing a little more. The next chapter will be a lot longer, and I promise a lot more drama than in 'Riches'.  
  
Thanks ever so much for reading. I love you all!  
  
~Shieldmaiden~ 


	2. New Arrival

And chapter two commences! First, I must say that I was pleasantly surprised, not to mention blown away, by Return of the King (I am still awe-struck by the Ride of the Rohirrim) so it took me a long time to finally get my head down and write this, not to mention several work-based complications. But everything is okay now!

Disclaimer: Everything here that you recognize from Tolkien's works, including places, names, and characters, are not mine, as I wouldn't have a clue what to do with them. Torfi, however, is mine, and is making a comeback from my first ever story 'Worth More Than Riches'. I do recommend that you read that first though it is not, of course, essential.

************* 

"To be loved by a horse, or by any animal, should fill us with awe- for we have not deserved it."

~Marion. C. Garretty~

*************

"Gimli? Gimli!" the insistent voice filtered through the Dwarf's subconscious and dragged him from the peaceful realm of sleep. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but ignored both that and the voice, hoping that doing so would persuade both to leave him alone. 

No such luck. "Gimli!" This time the hand shook his shoulder, moved to his thick mahogany hair and gave it a sharp tug. Gimli gave an involuntary yelp.

"Legolas! Wha-? Leave me 'lone…" he grumbled, pulling away from the Elf and lying back down with his back to him. 

"No!" Legolas laughed, grabbing hold of Gimli's hair again and pulling the Dwarf's head round to face him. The glare in Gimli's large, dark eyes would have made a Balrog pause for thought; but not Legolas. Gimli realized that the Elf wouldn't be put off so, sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, grumbling under his breath in Khuzdul about fool elves who did not respect the needs of others for rest.

"What time do you call this?" he exclaimed, glancing out of the window at a dark sky and thin sliver of moon. "Legolas, I am tired! Why are you waking me?"

"My apologies," the Elf said, satisfied that Gimli was not going back to sleep. "But there is something that I want you to see." He threw Gimli the tunic he had cast off last night before collapsing in bed, exhausted. Sighing, he tossed back the covers of his warm, comfortable bed and pulled his tunic on over the breeches he had neglected to remove.

"What is it you wanted to show me?" he mumbled, following Legolas from the room after pulling on his boots, trying to tie his long hair back with fumbling fingers made clumsy with sleep. 

"You shall see," Legolas replied, giving Gimli a mysterious smile. Gimli harrumphed impatiently.

"Look, if you are going to insist on waking me when I wish for sleep after several days of travel, the least you could do is give me the courtesy of a reason!"

The Elf did not reply, and Gimli was forced to fall silent as they walked through the halls of Meduseld, the Golden Hall of Edoras, the capital city of Rohan. The Dwarf flinched slightly when he realized how much noise his heavy tread made in comparison to Legolas' silent step, _Ironic_, he thought with a humourless smile, _since I am definitely the least talkative of us._ This was true. Gimli was not antisocial by nature, but he preferred to talk little, taking in everything around him, and could often be said to be reserved.  

Legolas led Gimli outside, and the crisp, cold night air made the Dwarf catch his breath. It was a clear night; the clouds that had spilled rain over the country had long since rolled away to the North, leaving the sky clear for the stars and thin moon. Together, Elf and Dwarf walked down the steps leading to the Golden Hall, and made their way down the track to the barn. Gimli's curiosity re-doubled- why were they paying such a late visit to the horses? Surely the Elf saw enough of the beasts? 

In the main barn, several horses' heads were peering over their doors, their ears flickering inquisitively, their eyes glimmering eerily in the darkness. There were faint rustles of straw and creaks of joints as the horses fidgeted. A faint light came from the very end box, and it was this that Legolas made for. Gimli paused for a moment to look in on Torfi; the little pony was lying flat out in the straw, fast asleep. Occasionally one of his legs would twitch, as though he were dreaming. "Lucky creature," Gimli muttered, feeling envious that his tired pony was being allowed his hard-earned rest.

"Gimli," Legolas whispered, taking his friend's arm. "Come!"

In the end box, Éomer was kneeling in the straw beside a large, bay mare, one hand resting on her swollen, sweat-soaked belly, speaking soft words to her. Her nostrils were flared, her neck strained. Hafoc, a young Rider, was spreading clean straw around the pregnant mare, then he dropped to his knees by her head, caressing it and speaking softly to her.

"It's coming," Éomer muttered, moving round behind the mare, lifting her bandaged tail out of the way. "That's it, Brytta, good girl. You're doing well!"

Legolas put a hand on Gimli's shoulder, and the Dwarf could feel it shaking in excitement. He smiled slightly, acknowledging the strange twisting sensation in his stomach, realizing that he too was excited about the birth of Brytta's foal. Éomer moved back, his hands gripping two very small hooves, which were followed by slender front-legs. Soon, the newborn foal was lying on the straw, taking its first deep breaths of air, struggling free of the birth-sac.

"Oh, my!" Legolas gasped, his grip on Gimli's shoulder tightening. Gimli said nothing, just stared in wonder at the small creature.

"Black!" Hafoc breathed, his blue eyes burning with joy. "A little black colt!"

Éomer wiped his forehead on the back of his hand, before bending over the colt, who was trying to struggle to his feet. He rested his hands over the colt's skinny belly, and turned to Hafoc. "Hold Brytta's head," he told him. "Just for a few minutes, whilst I work with this lad."

Hafoc slowly climbed to his feet, and moved to take hold of Brytta's halter as the mare scrambled upright, turning her head to look at her foal. Éomer held the foal down, gently but firmly, as the small creature struggled to rise, rubbing his head and neck. Gimli heard Legolas' intake of breath, and knew that the Elf did not like what he was seeing.

"The idea is that he accepts me straight away," Éomer said as he rubbed the foal's withers with his fingers. "He trusts me, so when I come to break him later on, he knows I mean no harm, and he won't fight it. See? He knows I'm dominating him, and he's accepting it."

It was true; the foal lay quiet beneath Éomer's touch, watching the man with wide eyes. Gimli glanced up at the tall figure of Legolas; though the Elf's face was shadowed, Gimli could see him frowning. Eventually, Éomer stepped back and stood up, allowing the foal to stand up, wobbling slightly on his stick-like legs as he made his way over to his mother to feed. Legolas breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well," Éomer turned to the Elf and Dwarf with a smile on his face, "that went well, did it not? He will be a fine animal. Look at him- when he fills out he'll have a good deep chest, clean limbs…" he broke off, gazing with pride at the latest addition to the horses of Rohan. Legolas and Gimli exchanged looks, and quietly left the barn.

When they were outside, Legolas stopped and took a breath of air. Gimli paused, looking at him. He wanted to know what was wrong with the Elf, but he was not about to press him for answers. Legolas would tell him in his own time.

Sure enough, instead of making his way towards Edoras, Legolas went to the crest of the hill on which Edoras stood. Looking out across the dark fields of Rohan, which stretched away to the edge of mortal sight, he waited for Gimli to come and stand beside him before speaking:

"I did not like that, Gimli," he said simply. 

"I know you did not," Gimli answered. When the Elf did not reply, Gimli continued. "May I inquire as to why?"

"I… I know not." Legolas sat down, crossing his long legs in front of him. "It was not natural, I suppose. Not natural to come between a mare and her foal."

"I see," Gimli sat down beside his friend, looking up at the stars, which glimmered in the deep, infinite sky above their heads. 

Legolas could tell that Gimli was not in a talkative mood. He wanted to know what was on his mind, but he was not going to press for information. For a fleeting moment, Legolas felt guilty for rousing his tired friend; after all, Gimli had only arrived in Edoras that afternoon. Still, the Dwarf would have been most disgruntled had he missed the birth of the little black colt. 

"I think Éomer should have allowed Brytta and her foal to bond first," he said eventually. "I believe that the bond between mare and foal is more important at this time than the bond between Éomer and foal."

"You heard what Éomer said though," Gimli murmured. "It is meant to make it easier for the foal when he comes to break him."

"Break!" Legolas echoed, distaste etched on his fair features. "I do not like that word. A horse is persuaded, taught, not _broken_." 

"Alright then," Despite himself, Gimli smiled. "When he comes to _teach_ the colt it will be far easier, will it not, if the colt already trusts him, as opposed to being fearful?"

"I- yes, I see your point." Legolas sighed again, and pushed his hair back behind his ear. "But he came between Brytta and the foal, and to me it was not natural."

"Natural!" It was Gimli's turn to echo his friend. "But Legolas, what is natural? Surely saddling a horse, taming him to bit and bridle, fastening a saddle to his back and cooping him into a wooden stable is not natural? Do you think that sitting astride a horse's back and asking him to move hither and thither at your will and not his is natural?"

There was a long pause, and then Legolas laughed. "You become more Elvish everyday, my friend!" he exclaimed. Then he sobered. "I understand what you are saying though. Still, I do not have a good feeling about this."

"That is what you said about me," Gimli replied, trying to raise the Elf's spirits. "I turned out to be alright, did I not?" He chuckled at the Elf's raised eyebrow. "Come, my friend, think about it! Have you ever seen Éomer do anything that was not to the entire good of his horses? Have you ever witnessed anyone from Rohan showing anything short of utmost kindness and respect to their beasts?"

Legolas looked at the Dwarf, and smiled. "I am over-reacting, then? Is that what you are saying?"

Gimli stood up and turned to return to Meduseld. "Nay. I am saying that you are letting your heart rule your head once again. Now come, you can stay here and gaze at the stars all night if you will, but I feel the need for sleep." With that, the Dwarf made his way back up the path. Legolas watched him go, a small smile on his lips.

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A few notes on this chapter:

The method Éomer was using is called _imprinting_, and it is an actual method of bonding with newborn foals. It is not cruel; so don't get the wrong idea! I have used it, and it has worked well, and now they are older they trust me more than anything else. However, there can be dangers if the mare is not a good mother. I am writing Gimli as my impression of him from the books, and my impression was that Gimli was a fairly quiet character- not antisocial, just quiet and reserved. He begins to open up as the story progresses and when he befriends Legolas, but to me he never really seems to _talk _until he finds something to loosen his tongue (I'm thinking Glittering Caves). If my Gimli isn't how you see him, then I'm sorry, but I'm not sticking with the stereotypical Dwarf. The names of the horses and people of Rohan, which are not recognizable from Tolkien's works, are taken straight from Old English. I would really like a beta reader, so if someone with an excellent grasp of the English language and grammar would like to offer their services, I would be extremely grateful. 

Thanks so much for reading, and please review!

~Shieldmaiden~


	3. Problems and Confusions

I apologise for the huge wait for this story to continue- though I seem to have a lost a majority of my readers from one story to another. Never mind though, many thanks to Gecco and Dis for the reviews: they were much appreciated.

There has a been a lull in work at the moment- the show season is in full swing, as are many pony camps so I don't have many new liveries, just two problem horses and my own. The only problem is an outbreak of 'strangles' nearby, so I've got to be extra careful. C'est la vie!

Disclaimer: Everything here that you recognise from Tolkien's works, including places, names and characters, are not mine, as I wouldn't have a clue what to do with them. Torfi, however, is mine, and is making a comeback from my first ever story, 'Worth More Than Riches'. I do recommend you read that first though it is not, of course, essential.

* * *

"To be loved by a horse, or by any animal, should fill us with awe- for we have not deserved it."

Marion. C. Garrety

* * *

The sight before him should have filled him with joy. He had witnessed similar sights too many times to count without the removal of his boots, and he had always felt proud and at peace with the world, but somehow it was not working anymore.

Éomer sighed and leant against the sturdy fence watching Brytta and her four-day old colt in their paddock. Brytta was grazing, ignoring her son and intent on filling her belly. Hafoc had decided to name the colt Nidor, _'new life'_, because he was the first black horse to be born in Rohan for many a year, and the only one in the whole of Edoras thanks to the scavenging Orcs. Nidor was prancing about the paddock, flicking his tiny hooves through the luscious grass and skipping every now and again, swishing his bottle-brush tail with delight.

The city was peaceful- it was late evening, and many had retired for the night, but Éomer remained. He had no appetite, and was in no mood for company. There were two things bothering him: Brytta had not bonded with Nidor the way he had wanted her to. She ignored him much of the time, and was unwilling to nurse him; Éomer had been forced to intervene and make the mare stand whilst the colt suckled. The other problem was Legolas; he had been distinctly cool ever since the birth of Nidor a few days ago. Éomer had talked to Gimli about the Elf's mood, but had received little information; the Dwarf had at least twenty ways of saying nothing at all.

The Horse-Lord rubbed a hand across his dusty face. His whole body ached, even though he had been doing little all day. He was restless at night despite his obvious fatigue, and had to force himself to eat in order to remain alive, and this was beginning to tell on him. He had become short-tempered and irritable; he had actually snapped at some of his men earlier, and had hated himself for it. He had almost lost his temper with Windfara that morning, almost to the extent that he had struck the fidgety horse. Luckily had had caught himself in time and gone for a walk to calm down and let the horse settle into a calmer frame of mind. He hated being like this, and knew his frayed nerves would soon give out.  
  
The King decided he could not stay where he was for much longer, and began to walk up to the barn to give the horses one last check. He trusted his men intimately to make sure all the horses were well, but it was reassuring to be able to see for himself. The walk up the hill to the royal stable block had never seemed so long. Eventually Éomer reached it and slid the large door back; a few curious heads looked over their doors, but most of the horses remained inside, tending to the more pressing matter of their mangers. One horse pressed against his door, throwing his head and whinnying joyfully. Éomer could not help but smile as he went to give Firefoot the fuss he had just demanded in his own not-so-subtle manner.

"What am I going to do, Firefoot?" he asked, rubbing the horse's forehead with the pads of his fingers. "Everything seems to be going wrong; I try to do what is right for everybody, but it is difficult. I always thought I would do a good job of being King, but it doesn't seem I am living up to my own ideals." The horse had no answers, but he stopped pressing against his master's hand and watched him with large, curious eyes, and Éomer smiled again. Whether or not his horse understood, he always made him feel better.

Éomer had raised Firefoot from a foal. His birth had been difficult, and they had been unable to save his dam, and Firefoot had just made it. Théoden had given the dapple-grey colt to his nephew to raise himself, thinking it would do the boy good, and Éomer had to admit that it had worked. He had become surly and quiet when he had first moved into Meduseld; he had lost both of his parents, and he had found it difficult to cope with the grief. Éomer had fallen in love with Firefoot, and named him after his temperamental disposition and quick-silver speed. Now the horse was so attached to Éomer he would follow him about Edoras as quiet as a lamb, whereas with other men he would pull and jerk at his rope in indignation at having to follow orders.

When Éomer left the barn night had almost fallen; the sky was a blanket of deep blues and purples, netted with stars, and ragged clouds drifting across a sickle moon, filtering dappled light occasionally to the ground. When the Horse Lord reached Edoras it was deserted and silent, apart from two guards on their watch. Éomer greeted them pleasantly, and they replied in courteous voices. Éomer thought he sensed some reserve in their tones, and he could not blame them- talking to him that day had been like walking on a knife edge.

His quarters were inviting, his bed looked comfortable and warm, and he longed to curl up between the light sheets and drift into a refreshing sleep, forgetting his problems until the morning.

He sat at his window and watched the moon's journey across the night sky.

* * *

Whew! I found this chapter actually quite easy to write. I love Éomer, and I think he needs a little more attention. Many people write him in a fairly two-dimensional way, and I have enjoyed exploring and fleshing out his character. I hope you liked this chapter- please review!

Love for all,

Shieldmaiden.


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